Walking Abyss
by IreneRays
Summary: The second book of the ODS trilogy. Our heroes are dealing with the Aftermath of Airdan's demise, each facing their own hardships and moving forward. That is until an unexpected trial forces them to dive into the past and the world of the Magicians to seek answers. Are you ready to confront the past?
1. Chapter 1

Location: Danubianna Mulensteen Museum of Modern Art  
Bratislava-Čunovo, Slovakia

On the edge of the peninsula where the Danube flows, on the borders of three neighboring countries: Slovakia, Austria, and Hungary, the youngest museum of modern art –Danubiana Mulensteen- stood proudly awash in endless sunlight.

Standing there among the hordes of tourists, a man in his trademark yellow coat examined a piece of the museum's current exhibitions with keen interest. The authority he emitted and his manly stature could earn him a place in the museum's finest works of art. He attracted many pairs of eyes, to top it off. Such a man is the elite seeker of the Foundation, Dante Vale.

Yet, however confident and proud he appeared to the naked eye, a more careful inspection would reveal a hungry curiosity eating him from the inside out and a myriad of thoughts scattered in his messy head.

The painting in front of him did make a fine job as a distraction, but not intense enough to brush aside all of the turmoil inside him.

Dante scanned his surroundings again. No sign of him yet. He didn't have a way of recognizing the companion he was waiting for, but considering how they came to meet –through a long-gone friend- he expected the guy to stand out like a poppy amongst daises. That would certainly fit the kind of people his connection used to hang out with.

Dante's eyes drifted to the painting again, a piece of Alena Adamikova's collection CREATURES. It portrayed a young girl with watery blue eyes and splashes of paint across her cheek and neck as if she had just finished a work of art herself. Her hair protruded from the base of her skull as golden hay and transited to furry felines with lively snouts, one blue and one pink. The girl's eyes were averted from him, but the two creatures had their sharp eyes staring right through his soul, trying to make a secret known while the girl wasn't looking. Dante wandered about that secret and all the other secrets he had to discover.

Six months ago, the Huntik team had faced a new, deadly opponent. The second of the Sunken Souls, Airdan Cole, sent his pawns on a quest to find the ones who hosted the Imperial Regalia of Japan in their bodies. Two of them where Lok and Zhalia, Dante's team members who he treasures like family. The third was one of Airdan's pawns and his niece, Brooklyn Cole. The damaged female managed to escape and joined them. With the assist of her brother, Daniel Cole, and a select few magicians who went against their laws to lend a helping hand, they defeated the Sunken before he could unleash chaos upon the world.

After their final battle, they had another kind of chaos to go through, the one wars and typhoons leave behind; dead to mourn, deep wounds and haunting memories. Zhalia had the toughest time dealing with the latter.

When she came through after receiving the memories Daniel had taken from her, her mind was entangled in knots. She would jump from the present to the past, forgetting faces and mentioning new ones, confusing people around her for her former Organization comrades. The cherry on top, what stabbed Dante straight through his heart, was when she looked at him in fear, attacking him in pure panic and demanding to see _him_, to see Daniel.

As noble as it was for Daniel to return Zhalia's memories, which he had taken without her permission in the first place, Dante was left behind to see the love of his life descend into madness. After all, he had gone through to save her; he was advised not to visit her at the Foundation clinic until she was in a batter condition. His presence set her brain ablaze, had her shouting and kicking and crying. At some scarce occasions, she would be sweet and even flirty, but that was only when she saw Daniel's face into Dante's. Eirini Nephelou, a Greek magician and renowned professor, had concluded after consulting the doctors that Zhalia was not in a good state to have such a load fall on her shoulders right after she had escaped the hellhole of Airdan's castle. Dante and the others couldn't agree more.

Needless to say, he was worried sick about her every day, especially since for the past three months only Harrison could visit her. The fears boy had a soothing effect on her; temporarily bring her back to the present. However, Lok and Sophie were invaluable factors in aiding her healing process. Sure, she might have gotten into a few catfights with Sophie and once attacked Lok with a toothbrush, but that wasn't the reason they couldn't visit her.

After the Foundation was back on its feet, Lok and Eathon returned to Ireland for him to finally see Cathy and make up for their lost time as a family. Without a doubt, they needed it to heal as well. As for Sophie, she had traveled to Korea to meet another amputee martial artist like her, who was also a seeker, to help her regain her battle confidence. Dante had offered to train her, mostly because he needed the company, but she refused. The elite seeker had a lot on his plate and as much as Sophie wanted to help, she thought it wiser to leave him alone for a while, help clear his head.

Having to deal with Foundation paperwork and the additional council meetings with Eirini and Tanaka about damage controls and how on earth they are going to face the consequences in the society of Magicians wasn't helping much. Through those volumes of paperwork that worked on him better than sleeping meds, Dante found an odd scrap of paper that wasn't typed on a pc or groomed with excess vocabulary. A yellow sticky note with messy handwriting had an address written on it and a string of numbers below it.

At first, Dante didn't give it much thought, thinking it got mixed in there by accident, but when he checked the back, his heart leaped to his throat. 998. This wasn't a random number; this was the room Zhalia was hospitalized when she was kidnapped by Brooklyn under Airdan's orders.

Dante ditched his paperwork in a heartbeat and jumped in the first taxi he saw after exiting Foundation's NY HQ. The sticky note led him to an apartment at Elizabeth St, Lower Manhattan. The building was surrounded by sops with Asian names; some had noodles, others offered a massage. Dante entered the apartment and after wandering around for an hour, he found the only apartment with a door that required a code to unlock. Whoever sent the note to him could have mentioned the floor number. Would it take so much of their precious time?

Long story short, from the apartment, he found a myriad of clues that led him to three other places. A room at Hotel Pennsylvania, a bar in Chinatown and room 998 back in Venice. Upon closer inspection, Dante came to realize this apartment belonged to Daniel Cole. Brooklyn's brother was on the countdown before their showdown with his uncle and he had tossed him several of his belongings during their adventures. Now he was sending him to a number of locations, leaving clues for Dante to find God knows what.

Dante could feel this had something to do with Zhalia's kidnapping, considering the number of her room was mentioned twice in his clues. Then he slapped his forehead. How forgetful can one be at 28? He had nearly forgotten how him and Daniel had first met. In the hospital, after Zhalia was kidnapped; Daniel and some FBI agents had prohibited them access to room 998, regardless of the fact that Dante and Lok broke in anyways.

He decided to head to the bar in Chinatown first, where he handed the barman an envelope as he was instructed by Daniel. The barman, a young, broad-shouldered Chinese man with thin eyes, eyed him from head to toe with what Dante had to squint to make out, a hint of doubts in his eyes. He looked at the envelope's contents, then back at Dante, before yelling something in Chinese. A woman dressed to the nines emerged from the back and handed him a disposable cell phone, one with a tiny screen and buttons from the early 2000s. A number was already typed and all Dante had to do was press the green button to be greeted by a loud scold at the end of the line.

"Danny! Where the fuck have you been, dude? I'm hanging on my ass over here! You are in deep shit and you left me to sugar talk the-"

And that was how he met Maurice Pollock, Daniel's former partner. It was hard for Dante to be the bearer of bad news, and even harder to shout louder than this megaphone man in a jam-packed bar. After Maurice was done cursing his fate and wishing he and his buddy hadn't missed out on "Lonny's Godsend Pizza", he pinned a date in the calendar and told Dante to meet there. Then he hung up. Dante was more than suspicious of this Pizza aficionado, but Daniel had sent him to Maurice for a reason and he felt obliged to see where this follow-the-clues quest would lead him to.

And so here he is, working his mind to untie a billion knots in his brain. What does Daniel want him to do? What does it have to do with room 998? How are Lok and Sophie? Is Zhalia getting better? Is Eirini handling the Magician higher-ups well? Is Brooklyn fitting in well in her new home?

And more importantly, has Maurice any intention of showing up before the museum brings in another exhibition?

"Ay Vale!" a trademark deep loud voice echoed from across the room, making many of the tourists jump on their place. For an FBI agent, Maurice sure wasn't taught how to be discreet.

Dante sighed and mentally prepared himself and his eardrum for some top-quality sound pollution. Maurice ran to him, ignoring the guide who stuttered behind him and plead him not to bother the visitors. Maurice halted a breath away from Dante, closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose deeply.

The guy was 2 feet tall, had the color of ground coffee, a shaved bald head and a baby face with large features that posed a funny contradiction to his massive muscles. He opened his eyes and looked at Dante dead serious.

"A'right, you got some explaining to do!"

"So do you," Dante crossed his arms above his chest, "Not exactly the punctual time, I presume".

"Details, details, flimsy little details!" Maurice shrugged his shoulders like he had no care in the world, "Come, I know a good pizza place. Let's roll!"

* * *

Location: Thessaloniki, Greece

In a quiet neighborhood of Harilaou, a blond girl fidgeted awkwardly in front of the entrance of what was meant to be her new home, for the moment at least.

Steeling her courage, she took a deep breath and raised her hand to press the bell button. Her fingers grazed its surface and a pang of guilt washed over her.

The Huntik team, the people who had done so much for her –forgive her, accept her, befriend her, help her, save her- were dealing with all kinds of pain, and there she was. In Greece, ready to start a new semester under the guidance of Professor Eirini Nephelou and three roommates.

The education system as Eirini described it to her was an interesting approach to learning, even though according to a certain blond Irish boy it's next level torture. Young magicians are homeschooled for 8 years by their parents in small clusters, gathering in a meeting point and assemble family classes where each parent teaches two subjects: one ordinary primary or junior high school subject and one magic related. By the end of those 8 years, around the age of 15, the magicians take a test to determine their skill and which branch of education is best for them to follow according to said skill, their inclinations, and subjects they favor. The majority continues 2 years of education at an assigned public high school managed by a magician so they can borrow classrooms after school hours are over for an additional 3 classes related to magic. Homework usually includes the practical appliance of theory. After those two years comes University. A number of students are assigned to a certain professor and all of them reside at the accommodation provided by the said professor, who occupies a room there as well. Common subjects are taught as well as certain branches of magic. A magician graduates university whenever their professor deems them ready for moving on to the final step. Getting a job or specializing at a 'Branch' are the final options.

Since Brooklyn was old enough already and had been taught a lot about magic by her uncle during her years in captivity, after an evaluation by some officials she was permitted to study under the wing of Eirini Nephelou as a 'freshman'.

At first, she was hesitant. She wanted badly to be there to support her friends, especially Harrison who, in comparison to the rest, had no piles of work or family to keep his hands busy. In the first few months, he was handed missions from time to time with Lok. Brooklyn tagged along whenever she was allowed. But soon after she was visited by Eirini to be announced that she had to go and live around people like her or things would get complicated. Brooklyn needn't question her. Professor Nephelou had gone against the law guiding the nights of the Golden Temple to the Huntik Team's aid. It was inevitable that the truth would be unveiled and the world of magicians would face political chaos with Eirini at the center of it. Brooklyn as well, if she did not choose to lay low.

While she may have made the wiser choice, it didn't make it any less painful for her. There was no doubt that she did wish to learn more about magic, the community of magicians, snatch the opportunity to be taught by Eirini Nephelou and who knows, maybe she could meet professor Darlene someday! Leaving her friends behind to suffer on their own was the price for that wish coming to life, not to be mention being in constant fear of falling apart.

Brooklyn tried her best to stay strong for everyone but underneath that smile, she was tormented by her own kind of pain; one that Harrison understood very well.

The thought of her brother drawing his final breath next to her, wounded because of her, sacrificing his last seconds on earth to ensure she lives on was haunting her worst nightmares and stirred mental breakdowns she let loose only when alone or with Harrison. The amulet of Deragon felt like ice on her skin, her brother's last gift.

What if she were to have a breakdown in front of her roommates? How would they react? Hell, would they even accept her? Willingly or not, she was serving Airdan Cole for near a decade, who knows what rumors are flying around about her in the magician community?

Despite her new haircut and the healthier look a few extra pounds gave her, she still stood out. Laying low will prove to be a challenge; one she would gladly accept if it meant it would help her move on.

A scrap of paper with a to-do list jotted down was buried in her jean pockets and she wondered how Sophie's advice of witting her goals down would make achieving them –and surpassing the obstacles in her way- any easier. Besides, she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

Brooklyn produced the paper and recited her goals in her head. Determination swelled inside her and she decided to not doubt Sophie's advice when it came down to motivation.

Straightening her back, she pressed the doorbell and stood on wait, leg jittering. The door swung open so abruptly it made her jump in place. A boy with rich, golden curls, funny pink leopard suit, and heavy makeup leaned lazily on the door. He run his eyes on her from head to toe and Brooklyn sifted, she couldn't help but feel like she was being judged.

"Look, honey, I know we agreed on an 80's punk style but you are making it _really_ hard for me with that default!"

He pointed at her clothes –white high-waist jeans with a light blue and white striped buttoned shirt under a dark blue sweater and white sneakers-with evident disapproval. Brooklyn squinted, curious about whether the eyelashes covering his eye like a curtain were real.

The boy heaved a sigh at her lack of response and elegantly swayed his hips, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, your sense of fashion is beyond saving!"

Brooklyn blinked, speechless. She was questioning whether she had the right address when a puff of smoke threw her in a coughing fit. A woman emerged from behind the leopard suited man and Brooklyn had to force her jaw from dropping to the floor.

She had lilac hair, round Harry Potter glasses, wore a bathrobe with god knows what beyond it and calf-high socks with pineapples. Her face was pierced everywhere that it was possible to and in the little skin she left uncovered, Brooklyn spied ink decorating her skin.

The boy waved his hand and groaned.

"Oh my God, Selen! Take that murderous weapon away from my baby skin!"

Selen sucked another round and huffed it directly on his face. The boy stumbled inside and spat some cusswords Brooklyn would rather not have heard. Completely expressionless, Selen moved towards her and threw her cigarette outside.

"You'll have to forgive Gregory, he can be… judgmental," she said, voice hoarse, "I take it you are the fresh blood, Brooklyn Trite. Got that right?"

"Yeah, yeah! Nice to meet you!" the damaged female nodded frantically and shoved her hand in front of Selen. She eyed her pale palm, still unfazed and shook it gently, her long nails painted night sky blue.

"Need any help with that?" she pointed at the luggage behind her. Brooklyn stammered before she could produce a cohesive answer.

"Oh…uh. no, no, no, that won't be necessary!"

The corner of Selen's lips rose as she took in her scrawny figure. Brooklyn felt helpless under her gaze. The distinctive style and that sassy air about her crowned her 'so cool' in her eyes.

"Hey Adam, give the newbie a hand, will ya?"

From the far end of the hallway, the boy named Adam descended lazily down the spiraling stairway. Messy chocolate brown hair, tanned skin, almond eyes, and a head taller than her, Adam stood out of the three as the only one who had a casual look and style for a young adult.

"Adam Sheville," he extended his hand and Brooklyn shook it.

"Brooklyn Trite"

Without another word he scooped her luggage and went back to the stairway. Before he took the first step, Adam craned his neck to look at Brooklyn.

"The rooms are on the second floor. Yours is next to mine at the far left of the second hallway. Don't knock on my door unless it's an emergency," and with that, he took off upstairs.

Brooklyn stared at his back as his silhouette disappeared. Yet another odd encounter for the day, Brooklyn could not help but wonder what else there was in store for her. The day was still young. Selen cleared her throat and snapped Brooklyn out of her musings. Realizing she had been cemented in the doorway long enough to make the silence uncomfortable, she hurriedly stepped inside with Selen closing the door behind her.

Silence again. Initiating small talk has never been one of Brooklyn's strongest traits, but the way Selen was eyeing her expectantly had her on edge, feeling obliged to say something or her eyes would devour her soul.

"Um… did I do something to bother him?" she referred to Adam's cold attitude towards her, the first thing that sprang to her mind.

Selen leaned her head on her right palm and supported her right hand by crossing the left, an amused smile on her face.

"On the contrary, since he bothered to speak to you at all, I'd wager he liked you".

Brooklyn raised her eyebrows. If the sound of Adam's voice is such a rare thing in this house, then maybe Selen is right. That trio had made a rather… unique first impression. Brooklyn could not judge, she wasn't less weird than any of them, in her own way. In fact, she felt relieved for having those oddballs as roommates. Maybe things won't be so bad after all. And then Selen spoke again and crushed her surge of optimism.

"Fancy jewel you are wearing there, Brooklyn _Trite_".

The blood in her veins froze solid and her hand scavenged her neck only to feel a small talisman under her fingertips. Ever since she acquired Deragon, Brooklyn had been wearing his amulet along with Peter Pan's around her neck while keeping the rest in a pouch. She mentally cursed herself for forgetting to tuck Peter Pan under her shirt.

Selen chuckled, the coarseness of her throat painfully audible.

"Chillax kiddo, my lips are sealed".

Brooklyn released a breath she didn't know was holding in. Selen's word was anything but trustworthy. The sole purpose of altering her name, bleaching her hair, hiding her scars and adding fake freckles was in a ridiculous attempt to conceal her identity for as long as possible. Thanks to a stupid slipup, s woman she had just met had unmasked in the blink of an eye. Brooklyn should be terrified, but something about Selen's cool told her she had nothing to worry about.

Selen saw through her mental struggle and gave a Cheshire smile.

"Seriously, there's nothing for me or anyone of us for turning you in. Plus, from what I hear, you kinda helped in saving the world so breaking the rules made by those wrinkly old asses can't get you on the naughty list for so long."

Selen's words had a calming effect and Brooklyn decided to allow herself to trust her. She nodded her head and made a slow twirl, looking around her. Selen pushed herself off the wall and approached her.

"Show yourself around. You'd have to be an idiot to get lost in here. The only heads up I got for you is the candlestick above the fireplace. Don't touch it till the prof comes along, 'kay?"

"Yes," Brooklyn replied curtly.

"Good. Make yourself at home. Feel free to barge into my room whenever you are bored and welcome to Housing 54!"

Selen raised her hands as unenthusiastically as her voice sounded. At least, Brooklyn got a proper welcome from someone. Given the peculiar personalities of her roommates, she was grateful for that.

"Thank you, Selen".

Selen gave her a soldier's greeting before she climbed up the stairs. Suddenly, she stopped and bent her back backward, stealing a last glance at a flabbergasted Brooklyn.

"Oh, and by the way, the bats on the second bathroom are part of the family. Do me a favor and don't scream when you see them. They are pretty harmless, most of the time".

Brooklyn swallowed loudly, "Thanks for the warning".

* * *

For the fifteenth time that day, Sophie Casterwill fell on her back, the wind knocked out of her for five dreadful seconds. Yesterday's record was surpassed by 7, 32 seconds, but the redhead could not feel any satisfaction from that progress.

The level of skill she was striving to reach had taken other amputees a lifetime to master and the Casterwill heiress demanded herself to perfect it in the span of five months. As little time or irrational, a goal this might pose, six months away from her team in an hour of need was five months too long for Sophie.

She did not regret flying to Korea all alone, acknowledging the much-needed space and time required for everyone to heal, herself included. Even so, the fear she was failing them was lingering in the back of her mind, pushing her to her limits every passing day and hovering above her nightmares every night.

A figure squatted next to her and she reluctantly forced herself up, unwilling to hear it. The person below her suppressed a sigh.

"You did well today".

"Don't bother Dong-Sun, please".

"I'm just saying; don't be so hard on yourself."

Chu Dong-Sun, her mentor for the past five months, approached her carefully. Sophie knew it was his kindness that ushered him to encourage her in spite of his natural inclination to silence. She just wished he could take a break for once and let her sink in her own thoughts.

"It's not enough. I'm nowhere near where I was!" Sophie tried her best to calmly breathe away the anger climbing up her core to her vocal cords. Anger is unproductive, chaotic. Dong-Sun confidently blocked her path, forcing her to look at him.

"And it will never be enough if you keep clinging to what you lost. You are not any less than who you were with your arms and if you don't see this yourself nothing will ever be enough".

Sophie cracked a small smile. Dong-sun had been kind and compassionate from day one, but never this straightforward. At first, she had a hard time convincing him to train her, being a lone-wolf among else, but when they met face to face and Sophie shared her story, Dong-Sun went out of his way for her sake, much to his dismay.

Sophie had felt so disoriented by his chaotic mind and messy environment. Sure, his genius and creativeness made up for or the tiny minuses, but Sophie couldn't help but apply her manic tendency to organize every single detail. After a couple of disagreements and the ramen incident they had sworn to take to their graves, the amputee duo found a bizarre balance. Dong-Sun taught her all of the ways she could use her body as a weapon, submitted her to harsh training to familiarize the rest of her body with magic and even had her break her record on meditation; 92 hours. Sophie on her part ensured his spontaneous tendencies were never too out of hand, placing their training hours on specific hours (and not whenever Dong-Sun felt like it, like 3 am) and even organized his notes –which she couldn't for the life of her understand how he could find in that jungle of a workroom.

Compromises were made and they both came to terms with one another, communicating with ease. Yet Dong-Sun still had trouble expressing himself to her. Hence the reason she was taken aback by his boldness.

"I'm going to fetch us dinner," he said and departed their training area, a wooden mat with a triangular roof for rainy days and a couple of drawers with essentials; simple, but ample.

Sophie sat on her bottom and worked herself out of her jacket with her bare feet. The necessity of using her lower limps for everyday tasks like dressing, eating and showering had resulted in her becoming extremely flexible and gradually quick at her movements.

She sighed in relief as her body cooled off a bit and stared at the red tiles of the rooftop blankly. Her mind drifted on the day she had reunited with Sabriel long after she thought to have lost her. Sophie would still feel traces of their bond lingering under her skin, but after all of those months, she hadn't grown the courage to try and summon her. She missed her friend.

The smell of boiling broth wafted the air around her and her stomach growled in response. The Casterwill heiress sighed and made her way to the hut nearby, counting down in her head the days left for her to visit her team.

Curiosity ate her out as to how they were holding up, but the food was way too distracting at the moment. Plus, she would soon hear from them, hug them, laugh with them, and grieve with them.

What she did not know, was that once she was back, everything was bound to go downhill.

* * *

Lambert's residence, Ireland

One of the many things Lok adores about his hometown is the sunset. There is simply nothing that can substitute the beauty of an Irish sunset. The palette of playfully bright colors sprawled across the sky; the gentle shadows of step heels and the highlight of rich greenery never cease to drag a sweet sigh out of his lips.

Being there, surrounded by his family –_every member_ of his family- makes him feel like nothing ever changed. Like his father wasn't gone for 12 years, or that he hasn't grown into a man and one of the most elite seekers of his generation.

At that peaceful moment when all that matters is the gleeful cascade of the sun down the hills, Lok tricks himself into believing that, allows a peaceful nirvana to settle within him before the storm comes.

By storm meaning Cathy Lambert returning from her trip across the world and seeing their dad for the first time after nearly a decade. Her father whom she considered dead. And more importantly, her father who is a seeker, and the rest of the family also happens to be seekers, a truth she had been left out from her whole life.

She is not going to take it well. Cathy might be one of the most logical minds of the family but the hurricane of truth is bound to sweep her off her feet. If Lok were in his shoes, he would certainly lash out. So he is ready to be there for her, answer her question, go through the yelling and maybe tossing of random household items around and in the end, embrace her and apologize profusely.

If that is the last storm he has to go through for everything to go back to normal, so be it. He has faced worse.

Absentmindedly, he brings his hand to his chest, the golden jewel beating healthily under his ribcage.

He snickered at his own thought. As if anything could ever become normal after that.

It didn't take long for news to spread among the world of seekers and now, apart from being a dreaded foe to the Organization and the remnants of the blood spirals, he also has a bounty on his head.

Lok doesn't mind though. The Foundation is picking itself up pretty neatly with the help of Eirini and Tanaka and Lok has no doubt that he will be exploring the world and immersing in thrilling -and not so life-threatening- missions not just with his team, but with his father as well- maybe even Cathy if she decides to join.

Lok hiccupped, a sob climbed in his throat as he realized once again that, even with his father back, his team will always be minus one. Lok closed his eyes and smiled bitterly.

Oh if only he were here right now. He just knows that Den Fears would make every aftermath so much easier with his carefree attitude, signature stubbornness, and silly jokes.

But he is not here. He is gone, forever. That one person that made Lok feel important in a way no one else could was rotting in earth soil. And it was all because of that wretched bastard.

Without realizing it, his hands were clenched to fists and his face was soaked.

No, now is not the time.

He repeats calming thoughts like mantras and tries to focus on the now dimming sunset when he sees two blurry figures in the distance.

As if on cue, his dad is next to him with a hand on his shoulder and a warm smile. Lok doesn't have to look twice.

Cathy is here. The storm is coming.

* * *

Moonstone Foundation Mental Clinic, Rotterdam, the Netherlands

When he first found himself in this place, the white, mundane walls seem to close in on him, the pristine cleanliness was suffocating and every new face he saw had him on edge. Now, after three months, this place feels like home.

If the aftermath of the final battle hadn't been so smooth for the rest of the team, it was a living hell for Harrison Fears.

From his perspective, he had lost everything, as much as the rest of the team begged to differ and were by his side in a heartbeat whenever he needed them. At least that was at the beginning. Everyone had to take their separate ways for a while and surprisingly enough, Harrison found himself perfectly fine with that outcome –or at least better than before.

With the money he had gathered, he bought a fake ID and rented an apartment in Rotterdam, continuing his training and education at home alone, cut off from everyone.

He needed this; needed the silence to hear himself think, needed the loneliness to mourn without shame, needed the time to come to terms with the way his life has turned out.

It wasn't easy, but he preferred the quiet. No one rushed to him when the sorrow welled up and spilled in his face, no one answered when he was screaming his brother's name in his sleep, the reality boring to his core like a bucket of cold water every time he woke up. It was a reality he needed to accept, but a part of him refused to.

Every day felt like it dragged to eternity and if it wasn't for his schooling, his training, the occasional checkups from the team or his visits to the clinic, Harrison would have been content lying in bed for days and drowning in his sorrows.

He was skinnier than he used to be, malnutrition knocking on his door. The seeker he had hired to train him had noticed this and insisted he eats healthier.

Harrison's initial reaction was 'screw him'. Food can't fill the hole in his heart, cannot extinguish the fire that is burning him alive from the inside.

It's almost comical, how his skin feels cold and every time he is not distracted, he finds himself in the bottom of the ocean with no way or will to ever try and swim up for air. But when he has neither distractions nor is he too tired to think, his mind consumes him with painful memories, dreaded images that have been burned in him and are still burning, slowly gnawing at every part of him.

It's just not the same without him.

"Den"

He muttered his name softly as if no one was supposed to hear it.

It had always been the two of them, Den and Harrison Fears against the world, or against each other. A dry smile stretched his flesh.

He had been so foolish, so naïve, and right when he was close to convinced that maybe, just maybe, he had found a home, a family, it was all snatched away from him when his brother heaved his last breath.

No place could feel like home without him.

And the team? Harrison doesn't even know if he should consider them that sow that Den is gone. Do they even want him, or do they just pity him? Will they try to reach him again when the Foundation bares better? What role does he even have in the team? Who is he?

Who is Harrison without Den?

A large shadow is cast above him and brings him back to reality with a harsh landing.

He shakes his head furiously and scolds himself for dropping his act like that.

Yes, Harrison Fears is lost and broken, but right now he has to be strong.

He might be burning alive but when _she_ needs him, he would move seas apart to make sure she is alright.

"You may proceed, Mr. Fears," a gentle, deep voice urged him, giving a playful emphasis to 'Mr.'

Harrison nodded to himself, licking his dry lips, and stood up rather unceremoniously. Harrison allowed himself to grin at that.

"Thank you, Dr. Herrera, for everything you are doing here".

The dark-skinned man offered him a warm smile and stretched his hand out to the direction of their destination.

"Nothing more than my job, kiddo. Though, I must warn you. She had a rough night, she might not react as well as the last time".

A small hope diminished in him, but that didn't stop Harrison from taking long purposeful strides towards a white door that seemed just like the others but looked very different to him.

'It's ok,' he chanted, 'we still made progress'.

Behind that door was a room with a series of monitors and medical devices. A large one-way glass window showcased the other half of it, separated by a sturdy metal door from them, and served as a home for the now most important person to Harrison's life.

His heart swelled as he saw her sprawled into the white mattress, her hair a blue halo around her head and her face more peaceful than he had seen it in a while. Unconsciously, he smiled.

"Looks like you got lucky, Becky this morning was not".

The woman the Dr. referred to, a muscular middle-aged veteran with multiple scars on her face, walked from the central monitor next to them and nudged Herrera.

"Take the night shift next time and then let me see you whistling in the morning," she took a sip from her coffee mug and patted Harrison's back. And her definition of 'patting' meant sending the poor boy stumbling a good three feet ahead and nearly bumping on the glass window.

"Woah!"

"You should eat more kid, my dead husband weighs more than you do. And be damn sure he is just bones and moths right now," she nudged him, this time more lightly and Harrison nodded robotically.

"She's right kiddo, you can barely stand," Herrera spoke as he was exiting the room, "Would you please do me a favor and pass by my office for a checkup?"

Harrison really did not want to, but in the end, he gave a slight, light-hearted nod. Dr. Herrera seemed satisfied with that and exited the room, leaving him with Dr. Becky Frey.

The woman slumped in her wheeled chair and proceeded to do whatever she was doing, sparing Harrison one last glance.

"I advise you to let her sleep, the poor thing nearly lost her voice screaming her lungs out last night. But she's good now, out like a light little before you came".

"Thanks, I really appreciate how you take care of her," Harrison said.

Becky, or Dr. Frey, made waved her hand dismissively and Harrison walked –properly this time- to stand in front of the window, drinking in the sight of the woman he has grown to love like a sister.

Daniel Cole could not have chosen the worst timing to return Zhalia's memories. The exhaustion from months in captivity and their fight coupled with her freshly returned heart delivered a shock to her system. At first, there were mild mishaps, slipping a name here and there or muttering jumbled phrases by her lonesome before someone snapped her out o her trance.

It all changed a month after her captor was gone. Memory fogs, inability to tell where she was or who the people around her were, confusing past with present nearly broke Zhalia to pieces. A large part of her was stuck at her past days in the Organization with Daniel and that part was growing with time, threatening to consume the person she has worked so hard to become.

Everyone around her was devastated, Dante and Harrison the most. It felt like they were losing her all over again, and in a sense, they were. The Zhalia they have grown to know and love slipped further and further into oblivion, replaced by a ruthless killing machine. The times she nearly killed them in a desperate outburst were not few, and the frequency only increased with time, until the Huntik team was left with no choice.

Hence why she is now hospitalized in Moonstone Mental Clinic facilities, at the Foundation root where expert seekers are looking after her. Harrison strongly believed that a magician's assist is very much needed to alleviate Zhalia's condition, considering the root of it. Even though he did not confide it to anyone, Dante appeared to share his point of view and was more vocal about it. Unfortunately, there was no response from the other side.

Harrison knows or wants to believe, that either Eirini or Tanaka would have rushed to their aid, but given the status of the magicians' community right now, their hands are tied. Especially Eirini's, since she has taken Brooklyn under her wing. Warmth washed over him at the mere thought of the blond girl. Dealing with the aftermath was so much easier with her by his side. Not like she bared any better, but they shared an understanding, a bond none of their teammates could fathom. They had both lost a brother and Harrison hoped that she felt even a trace of what he did for her.

Her subtle touches, her small smiles that made him feel invincible, her bravery as she faced sorrow like a champion fighting a dragon; deterred and courageous, all were traits of her that stirred feelings within him that Harrison reveled into.

He was also there when she needed him, hoping to transmit even half of the comfort she gave to him. The way she nuzzled against his chest when sleep finally lulled her in was a good sign, Harrison believed. Sooner or later, however, she had to leave.

She was a magician, and she needed to join her own people, where she belongs. Brooklyn opposed the idea at first, insisting she felt more at home with the team than any other magician. Yet she couldn't deny Eirini's words. Brooklyn was in danger the more she remained exposed. As a daughter of a Sunken and last living relative to her fugitive uncle, Gaston, she was a walking target for many predators. At least by joining Eirini in her Housing, she would be safe, or safer. Plus, she would have the chance to be properly educated, without the evil bias of her uncle, and Harrison knew it was one of her undying wishes to quench her thirst for knowledge. Hell, her own distraction was camping in the Casterwill library when no one was around to be with. All in all, it was her best option.

And Harrison had to learn how to make amends with her absence. The first nights were the toughest. Lok and Sophie had woken up to his ear-piercing screams one too many times and in the mornings, they would not dare to leave his side, constantly checking on him. He appreciated it, he really did, but they weren't Brooklyn. They couldn't ease the fire as she did. That was when he had decided to move on his own.

And now, as he stared upon Zhalia's sleeping form, he felt that warmth again, that heavenly comfort settling on his insides, making all of the pain worthy.

For a sweet moment, he allowed his mind to let go off the devil's hand, simply basking in her peaceful presence, absorbing strength from it. Moments like that were scarce, and Harrison cherished them deeply. He was well aware that when she wakes up, she will go in another tantrum, maybe even attack him, before an invisible switch is flipped and she is back to the present, or Dr. Frey plunges a syringe in her arm.

Certainly, a magician would be able to offer more than just sustaining her, but Harrison cannot do something about it; at least not right now.

No one else knows of this, of the agreement he had made with Brooklyn. But that was a subject he could dwell on another time.

For now, he just wants to breathe.

* * *

Location: Unknown

The leather armchair he had rested his heavy body screeched as he shifted. There was just no way to get comfortable in this damn thing. He had sats till long enough, too long for his liking. Alas, his condition left him no other choice. He was still healing.

A smug smirk ornamented his heavily scarred face. This immobility would not be for long. He has the boy wrapped around his finger, doing his bidding with no questions asked, aside from the occasional pity party where he begs for his freedom. The man scoffs; as if he would release such a goldmine for someone else to milk.

No, the boy and his abilities are all his to exploit.

And when he is done with him, the Huntik team won't know what hit them.

Sipping a large round from his cigar, the man exhales a cloud of smoke. In it, he envisions the dead bodies of his enemies, taking a blurry shape and pleasuring his eye.

Soon, Huntik team, soon.

Victory shall be his, and nothing can stop him this time!

* * *

**A/N: Sup my sexy beautiful people! How are ya holding up?**  
**No lies, I was a little hesitant to continue this trilogy for various reasons but in the end, here I am!  
Enjoy embarking with me on this journey of mental torture (as always) and my first worldbuilding attempt!  
Any views, reviews, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

**Never forget to smile and stay awesome  
Lots of love  
IreneRays**


	2. Chapter 2, Wide Awake

During the past forty-three minutes, Dante Vale has come to discover two things: Maurice's low standards on pizza places and also Maurice's dangerously obnoxious ignorance. The guy had been munching a Hawaiian pizza and rambling about some terrorist attack in Wyoming –the state no one remembers exists as he calls it- and none of his words are helping Dante produce a single reason as to why Daniel has clued him on meeting him. As a leader and a mannered individual, he has developed a high idiocy tolerance, but for the love of God if Maurice says one more word about the Wyoming incident or how his top ten times busted having fun (more accurately slacking off on duty) he is going to lose it!

"I tell you, man, Connor is a beast- pity for his wife it's not in the sheets; you get what I'm sayin? Anyway, so I had done my part and I was just chilling near the monitor. And then suddenly, I was craving some good juicy peaches. So I reach in my bag –see that baby, real snake leather, cost me half my lifespan- anyway, so I reach in my bag to grab my-"

"Maurice," Dante closes his hands and brings his united index fingers between his scrunched up eyebrows, eyes closed and his face full of indignation, "Will you, _please_, get to the point?"

Maurice looked at him like he just learned the earth orbits the sun.

"Man, I was getting there. Jee, impatient are we? Have you at the edge of your seat, ha? So I reach some plump peach and then Connor smacks my-"

"Not that point," Dante greeted his teeth.

For someone who has spent a lifetime honing his patience, Dante seemed to be running out of it in a very short time with Maurice. Thank the heavens the guy took the hint and actually put a lid on it for a moment, his over the top enthusiasm giving way to a sour expression; one that Dante did not like. Maurice sighed dramatically.

"Alright, I see it's come to this. Sorry to disappoint you spaghetti guy, but I ain't got a clue why Daniel sent you to me".

Dante did not like that either, but out of all the gibberish Maurice had tossed on him that evening, it was the only one that sounded believable. In fact, his stories were so CSI Miami, that Dante doubted he was a real agent. Something was very wrong and it vexed Dante that he couldn't pinpoint exactly what.

Dante shook his head and rested his chin on his hand, inwardly wondering what Daniel had gotten him into and what is he supposed to make out of it. Maurice went on about how sorry he is, or how lonely he has been without Danny and how it was good talking to Dante, even if he couldn't help much. Dante only registered Maurice's blabber out of habitual multitasking. His mind drifted back to the other clues he had; the room in Hotel Pennsylvania and the hospital room 998. A hopeful light bulb went off in his head. It certainly did not hurt to try; he had lost two hours of his life anyway.

"Say, Maurice," Dante cut off his ongoing rambling, "Has Daniel ever mentioned a hotel room in Pennsylvania or a kidnapping case in Venice?"

When Dante mentioned Pennsylvania, Maurice's face lit up, even his bald head seemed to shine more as it reflected the lights of the restaurant.

"Sweet baby Jesus and virgin Marry, you are the guy!"

At that Dante lost him yet again. He raised his eyebrows in pure confusion as Maurice continued.

"About seven months ago Danny texted me about 'a guy' that would need my help in closing in the 998 case and that I will need to show him to 'the room', the one in Hotel Pennsylvania. Don't know how that slipped my mind," Maurice swayed a pizza slice in his hand, "Danny hasn't called or texted since then. I'm worried he forgot about me or something".

At first, hope had shone through the cracks of despair at Maurice's reaction to the other clues but at his last words, Dante cringed. He still hadn't mentioned Daniel's death. He had no idea how Maurice would react or if he would be of any help after he learned of the unfortunate. From what Dante has sized up the past two hours, Maurice would go into overdrive, freaking out very loudly and possibly forgetting about anything else; anything of importance at the moment.

That's not to say Dante was taking Daniel's death lightly, not even after half a year later. Sure, they were rivals in romance and they clashed when it came to reasoning, but Dante had to admit he had grown fond of the guy. Had they met under different circumstances, Dante wouldn't doubt they would have had a fruitful competitive friendship. Sadly, that was never meant to be. For the moment, Dante's better judgment urged him to keep Daniel's death from Maurice.

"There's been a lot going on and he hadn't had the chance to contact you," he quickly offered, "And yes, it seems I am 'the guy' he mentioned".

Maurice beamed at him, losing all interest in his beloved pizza.

"Why didn't you say so sooner, man?" he leaped from his seat and tossed some dollar bills on the table, "Come on, I made sure the place is as clean as a whistle and exactly how he left it".

Dante followed him suit, having a vague idea about which room Maurice was referring to. He had questions, plenty of them, but Dante deemed it worthy to wait and let their next destination try and answer some of them.

The two men called a cab and before long, Dante knew exactly where they were going.

* * *

The first floor's living room was… unique, to say the least. It seemed to Brooklyn that every member of this Housing had added their own little detail to the décor. There were stashes of fashion magazines and showcase dolls with pieces of fabric strapped in them, there were little anime figurines and vintage witchy merchandise, and there was a collection of DnD rulebooks resting in a showcase. Every piece of her roommates had her intrigued.

During her first week there, she had gotten to know Selen the most. The moonchild did not talk much and when she did, she either had a meme reference ready at hand or a sarcastic remark from the depths of her heart for Gregory. She let Brooklyn hang out in her room when she was lonely as she played video games or made some dark digital art. Brooklyn had to admit, she felt a little awkward just sitting there, book clutched in her chest. Was she supposed to say something, carry a conversation? Her concerns where silence as Selen provided no indication she was annoyed. And so they shared their silence contently.

Gregory, on the other hand, was loud. Like Selen, he was often engrossed in his art, but when he wasn't, the house would be filled with his singing voice or his excessive commentary on whatever he was watching on the TV. The blonde seemed to disapprove of Brooklyn's choice of outfits and made a point to give her a full rundown of what was wrong with it every morning he saw her. Despite coming off too strong, Brooklyn thought he was an interesting character and even showed interest in learning from him. After all, what's the harm in acquiring more knowledge?

Then there was Adamant or Adam as he liked to be called. Brooklyn had seen very little of him, as he was either locked in his room or out. He was quieter than Selen and when he was in the common rooms of the Housing, he was either reading or just being there, playing with a pen in his hands or making origamis as Gregory and Selen were on a very one-sided banter and Brooklyn added small fits of giggles. On Sunday night, which is meant to be roommate nights, basically Netflix and chill and get to know each other, Brooklyn swears she saw him smiling for the first time. It was a short-lived smile in one of Selen's comments on how one of Gregory's favorite models posed like a JoJo character.

Today is Monday, the day Professor Nephelou arrives and their classes officially begin. And Brooklyn cannot wait for it. She hadn't seen Eirini in six months, since her uncle's demise, and was more than happy to reunite with a familiar face. Her roommates seemed promising, her teacher is someone she holds great respect for and her secret is safe. Yes, Brooklyn believes she can fare just fine in the magician world. That is until she has to leave this Housing and meet other students, professors, and higher-ups.

There was a lingering uncertainty in the back of her mind about how willing Selen would be to keep her secret about her involvement with the seekers. So far there were no signs of the woman even caring about who she was, but Brooklyn couldn't be too careful. She decided to talk to Eirini about one of her housemates knowing her true identity.

As the damage female was combing her hair on the first floor's common bathroom, she heard the clicking sound of the door unlocking. Hopeful it was going to be Eirini, she leaped out of the bathroom, brush at hand, with a huge welcoming smile on her face. Her expression dropped a little when she saw Adam, all flustered and panting, a large tear in his red blouse. The boy grabbed onto a stool for support and clutched his sides. That's when Brooklyn noticed the burnt edges on the tear of his blouse where he was clutching at. Concerned, she dropped her brush and rushed to his side.

"Are you okay?" she leaned over him and tried to remove his hand to inspect the burn.

"I'm fine," he growled at her and all but shoved her to the side, lugging himself to the kitchen.

Brooklyn knew she should be offended by his stance, but she couldn't shake away her concern. What had happened to him? Was he gone all night? Is he in danger? Determined to find out, she followed him to the kitchen and caught his tending a serious burn shirtless.

A small blush crept to her cheeks and she shook her head, focusing more on the gnarly burn.

"Can I help?" she asked, inching closer. Adam looked at her intensely, his expression saying something akin to 'don't talk to me'. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Fine, go ahead," he gestured to the first aid shelve next to the clock. Brooklyn eyed him, skeptical.

"I could just use a healing spell-"

"Save your energy, it's no big deal"

Brooklyn wanted to protest, the reddish, swollen flesh too big for his palm to hide seemed like one hell of a deal. His skin was peeling off and there were blotches of blood dotting the wound in random places. Brooklyn has seen and been inflicted upon more serious wounds. Still, Adam's secrecy and how oblivious to the pain he pretends to be are quite concerning.

Brooklyn dies to ask the questions swirling in her head but opts not to. It was clear Adam does not wish to share the story of this wound with her. All she can do is help.

As she was tensing him, Adam tried not to wince and hissed occasionally, but all in all, did not resist. Silence engulfed them.

With Selen, the silence had become a comforting means of bonding and with Gregory, there was never silence. With Adam however, there was a thick veil of secrecy making his own silence awkward. Brooklyn would want anything but to pry into his personal business, but when her roommate is gone all night and returns carrying such wounds, it won't be just Brooklyn that will have to convince him to expose his secrets. Professor Nephelou will have to hear about this.

As she was applying the last dollop of cream, Adam grabbed her tiny wrist and stopped her. His eyes bore into her with an intensity that made Brooklyn feel smaller than a petty insect.

"Will you do me a favor and tell no one about this?"

Brooklyn blinked. Had he read her mind? Well, technically, he could possess that ability, although very rare. Or perhaps he possessed basic reasoning and concluded her thoughts.

"Adam, what you do is not safe. If you are in danger, the professor must know".

Adam shook his head, "No, she doesn't need to know. It was a onetime thing, won't happen again, okay?"

Brooklyn pursed her lips, conflicted. Regardless of whether Adam was honest with her or not, Brooklyn did not want to be a snitch. She also did not want to keep something that could endanger her housemates from her superiors. Before she could reach a consensus, the front door opened. Adam quickly rolled down his blouse, drowning a hiss. Light steps echoed and then a loud thud before a figure emerged in the kitchen.

"Ah, Brooklyn and…Adam, right? It's nice to meet you two. My name is Eirini Nephelou and I will be your Housing Professor for this year".

Brooklyn managed a weak smile. They were supposed to not know each other, although she had the feeling Eirini would check up on her and catch up when she had the chance. Adam jumped from his seat and stood with his back straight, a sign of respect.

"Pleasure to meet you, professor".

"Y-Yeah, nice to meet you," Brooklyn quickly added.

"Why so stiff guys? I'll have you know I am not much older than you, so I better not hear you calling me madam or miss. It's just Eirini. No need for formalities".

Brooklyn gave her a toothy grin. Eirini would be the coolest teacher, she just knew it. Adam nodded and sat back down, his face spasming ever so slightly, enough for Brooklyn to notice.

"Well," Eirini clapped her hands, "I believe I have two more students to meet. Could you call them down Adam?"

"Yes prof- I mean, yes Eirini… Sorry, it's kinda weird talking to my superior so casually".

Eirini tilted her head, a warm smile on her lips, "You can get used to it. After all, learning never stops. Technically I am as much of a student as you are. Now off with you and let me see you with company when you come down"

Adam nodded and disappeared upstairs. When he was outside of hearing range, Eirini craned her neck to check on him and then lunged for Brooklyn, giving her a big hug that caught the damaged female off guard. When she remembered to use her arms she returned the hug and grinned.

"Hey there, stranger. How are you holding up?" Eirini asked when she pulled apart.

"Pretty good," Brooklyn said, "The guys are nice and I can't wait for our classes to start".

"I hope your housemates have the same eager attitude," Eirini chuckled, "But what I meant to say I, are you feeling ok?"

Instantly Brooklyn knew what Eirini was talking about. The anniversary of her brother's death was nearing, her father's passed not too long ago, and she still wasn't allowed to see her mother; it was too risky. Naturally, Brooklyn was beyond upset but pushed forward. Willowing and mourning could expose her and knowing Eirini is the one keeping her safe right now, she wouldn't want to add to her responsibilities; that woman had had enough of bureaucracy for half a year. Brooklyn would want anything but to burden anyone.

That didn't obstruct the harsh pangs of sadness whenever she remembered her brother and father and thinking of how much more they could have been, how much closer they could have grown were they given the chance to. Midnights find the damaged girl with cold sweat drenching her body as she dreamed of herself waking up back in that dreaded castle, her uncle using her in ways that still disgusted her.

Yet Brooklyn spoke of this to no one. She was not the only one suffering a loss, and so she believed she had no right to piss and moan while everyone else was fighting their own demons and one of the women she respected the most was throwing herself in the fire for her.

So Brooklyn nodded, feigning nonchalance, "Yeah, of course. I'm fine"

Eirini examined her face. It was easy for her to tell she was lying, but she didn't push the matter any further.

"Okay. If you need me for anything I am a floor above you".

Eirini gave Brooklyn's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Just then the rest of her housemates joined them. Eirini sat up and welcomes them.

"Excellent, now that we are all here, I believe introductions are not in order. You know me, I know you, and I promise you to make this year as fruitful and enjoyable as I can for all of us. Selen, Gregory, Adam, and Brooklyn, what do you say?"

Selen shrugged, "I'm cool".

Gregory squealed, "It's such an honor to meet you! Your work with your brother is impeccable! And my, oh my, this shirt and those pants were made for each other!"

Eirini bowed graciously like a princess, "Why, thank you, Gregory, Selen. Now, let us go to the living room and we can start building our program".

And just like that, Brooklyn's school year as a magician begun officially.

* * *

Lok Lambert inhaled a bunch of air before mustering up the courage to dial his sister's phone number. Answering machine again, for what felt like the hundredth time this week. Lok looked at his phone sadly, hoping his sister could somehow see his apology through the screen.

The talk last week did not go well. Not like the Lambert's knew what to expect, but certainly not Cathy basically ostracizing them and leaving to stay with her boyfriend. When the hell did Cathy get a boyfriend? Lok realized he had missed a large part of Cathy's life, as last year had been life-changing for her; changing majors, exploring her sexuality, finding a significant other, going through the passing of her best friend.

She had yelled all of that to her family's faces when they were trying to explain why they couldn't share the truth with her.

'I guess keeping secrets runs in the family!' she had launched at them before going down a tailspin and stinging Lok with unimaginable guilt.

At first, she had been thrilled to see her father, but after the tear-filled reunion, the storm came. And it went on in Lok's mind till that very day. He wishes he could just talk to her, ask her one chance to fix things and to be there for her. Cathy was resilient, refusing to answer even to her mother to whom she was closest to.

Lok had slumped on the couch and begun playing with a Rubik's cube, hoping to clear his head when his Holotome glowed and beeped; an incoming call. Curious, he dumped the cube and answered. It was Metz.

"Ah, Lok, I'm glad you picked up!"

"Hey Metz"

"How are you, my boy?"

Lok shrugged, "Good, a little shaken up, but good"

Metz nodded in understanding. Lok had informed him about the Lamberts plan to reveal the world of seekers to Cathy and got his approval. At the moment, Cathy knowing the truth should pose no danger to her. Or so they had initially thought because what Metz told him next rattled Lok to the bone.

"I'm sorry to add to your concern but I have to tell you this. Dante is busy with a case of his he has told me very little about and I need your help"

Lok palmed his elbows and set them on his knees, eager to listen despite his gut feeling warning him for the worst.

"What's going on?"

Metz averted his gaze looking at something Lok couldn't see, "The past week there had been attacks at European Huntik HQs, London, Vienna, Athens, Bratislava, and Oslo. The attackers were Organization suits".

"What? Isn't Grier in charge now? Why would he do that?"

"I assume there are some suits opposing his leadership. It would be no surprise. But it's not just the attacks that bother me, it's their nature".

Lok raised his eyebrows and Metz took that as his cue to continue.

"Those suits were way more powerful than your average suit. From annoying buzzing flies, they climbed the ranks to an immediate threat. I cannot describe it with precision but they left a very ugly mess no ordinary suit could have done. There were melted bodies, holes in the walls with strange liquids on them; the files were all pierced to the floor".

Lok furrowed his brows and squinted as if he could somehow picture the scene if he tried hard enough. But he couldn't. This was not the work of an ordinary suit.

"We should talk to Grier, he must have something!"

"Yes, that's what I thought. It worries me he didn't inform you about rogue suits but we can't even be sure of that. I'm sending you Sophie; she should be here by midnight. A Foundation jet will pick you up tomorrow morning and take you to Prague and then to the most recent attack site in Athens".

"Got it"

"And Lok," Lok's head stopped midway to closing the Holotome, "Be careful"

With a nod from the Irish boy, the call ended and Lok slumped back to the couch, taking it all in. He felt the weight of the couch shift next to him and craned his neck to find his dad joining him.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it," Eathon replied, "Guess you are back on the field".

Lok gave his father a half-hearted smile, "Do you want to come with me?"

Eathon avoided his son's eyes, "I'm afraid I can't son. If I'm being honest I wish I didn't have to leave at all right now; not after what happened with Cathy".

"Wait, you are leaving?" Lok leaned closer, eager and also worried. Eathon met his gaze reluctantly.

"It has been requested by the knights of the Golden Temple that I join them and provide them with information about the Huntik dimension. As the only Seeker who has ever been there and survived, it only sounded appropriate".

Lok frowned, skeptical. Something did not sit right. Eathon was bound to be tied with a reputation after his return from the Huntik world –and for some people, the dead- but Lok expected the Foundation to be far more interested in learning about Eathon's ten years in Huntik. Lok remembers how his heart was in his throat every time Eathon got called by a Foundation agent to share his adventures with the Seekers; to be taken away from Lok again. Magicians showing interest is not surprising, but unexpected nonetheless, with the most shocking part that Eathon accepted their request and declined each and everyone from the Foundation.

Whoever he was aiding however, Lok only interpreted one thing. His father was leaving, again. Certainly, this was a likelihood Lok dreaded but just seemed so far away that he didn't concern himself with it much, too comfortable in the little bubble of stability he and his family had settled in the past six months. But fate had other plans for the young seeker.

"Do you have to go?" Lok croaked out, voice just below a whisper. But Eathon picked it up and his expression softened.

"I must, my boy. It'd a good chance to check on Brooklyn too".

The image of the damaged female appeared in his mind. Lok did wonder how Brooklyn was holding up. Since the day he left, she had been staying with Dante and Harrison until Harrison moved out and she decided to do so as well, seeking out Eirini's help. The weight both carried connected in a way Lok still didn't quite understand. All he knew was that Brooklyn was a person he trusted and understood and was now a part of the team wherever she was.

"What about the Foundation? Why don't go there? I could be dangerous at the Temple," Lok pressed on. Eathon heaved a sigh.

"I am aware of the risks Lok, but what I must do is bigger than the Foundation-"

"You still want to find Gaston Cole," Lok cut him off, voice firm. It wasn't like he needed an answer on this one.

If it weren't for the third Sunken, Lok would have been captured by Airdan long ago. Gaston and Eathon were close, so close Eathon insisted on finding him after the man went missing for more years than he did. Lok was fairly concerned, especially with all the rumors he had heard about the guy and despite being grateful to him, something was nagging him. And he couldn't tell if he was genuinely worried about his father's mission to find Gaston or just did not want him to go anywhere.

"Son, I beg you to understand me. You never stopped believing in me even when everyone thought of as a dead man. I won't stop believing in Gaston, he saved your life and mine, I owe him so much. Finding him and clearing his name is the least I could-"

Eathon paused abruptly and cleaned his throat. Lok realized he hadn't meant for the last bit to slip up. He pursed his lips and decided to not press any further. Eathon wouldn't change his mind after all and Lok had a mission, which he just recalled was also a matter of concern.

"What do you think about the attacks in the HQs," Lok changed the topic of the conversation, hoping for the heavy atmosphere to dissipate. His father caressed his beard, thoughtful.

"Strange is all I can tell so far. Not the dirty laundry of your regular suit. If Grier is as trustworthy as you claim he is, then I assume there is another hand pulling the strings of the attacks".

Lok nodded. It made sense. Now all he had to do was find out who was the Puppet master.

* * *

Darkness

Sheer darkness stretching everywhere the eye could reach.

Peace.

It's peaceful. He feels revels in the silence.

Until the silence is gone

Shuffling of clothes, crunching of leaves; dull, drowned

And then he feels.

Itching at his neck, numbness in his limbs, a harshness on his back and cold all over

That's what he feels

And then he smells

Earthy soil and humidity and wet stone and something old

He tried to move. He tries to open his eyes. He can't. The itching at his neck becomes a sting.

It hurts.

He wants to reach out with his hand. Does he even have a hand? He knows it's there but he cannot feel it.

The air is thin. His breathing is labored.

Was he breathing at all before?

His lungs are struggling. And then he could move; wiggle his toes and fingers.

Yes, that's something.

He tries to blink; darkness again, only louder, smellier, here.

He can touch it, the wet stone. He can feel it pressing all around him, squeezing him in something. Where is he? What happened?

The stinging in his neck sends a surging pain all over his body. And he remembers.

His limbs are no longer numb. He is thrusting and pushing but he is trapped. Where is he trapped?

And then he is pushing forward. It works, the stone above him is moving,

He struggles. It's heavy. His muscles ache. But he keeps pushing.

Then he sees the light

Bright and blinding and too much

He squints and keeps pushing.

More light seeps in. His eyes are slowly adjusting. His muscles are getting stronger. But he is still tired, so he pushes harder to get this over with. His neck is sore and the pain is relentless.

And then he has done it and there is only light

Until he blinks a few times and he sees purple and pink and yellow and red; the sky

It's beautiful, he thinks. But it's not where he wants to be; not where he remembers he was.

He blinks some more and stands. His muscles protest but he still stands. He has to stand.

He has to get up and find them, help them.

Out of the wet stone, he sees a field of rich soil and dozens of stone coffins.

Realization hits him and he looks down his body. He had just emerged from a coffin his own coffin.

Panic surges through him as he remembers some more, the pain in his neck unbearable

He brings a hand to touch it and feels a thick line of scar tissue, tracing it all around his neck till it makes a full circle.

He freezes.

It can't be… He can't be…

A weight falls on his shoulder and he gasps. Next to him, on the ground is crouched a familiar face.

"Daniel?" he croaks out, voice raspy like he hadn't used it in ages. Daniel nodded.

"About time you woke up"

He raised his eyebrows. Did he wake up? From what? And where?

His head was throbbing and he cupped his forehead, a jumbled mess in his brain.

"Where… where are we? What happened? Where are the others?"

Daniel stands up with ease and spreads his arms wide.

"Welcome to the Underworld, Den".


	3. Chapter 3 - The trail

Midday in Athens' Kolonaki was uncomfortably crowded, but Lok and Sophie had to eat somewhere after their flight. They had opted for something sweet pancakes and immediately regretted it when they saw the size of those things –though Lok claimed that was just normal breakfast, Sophie would beg to differ.

Lok felt overwhelmed seeing her again. She looked much better than how she left; more confidence in her stride and a bigger smile on her face. Training did her good, that's what Lok thought. When he hugged her for the first time after months and couldn't feel her own arms circling around his back, it stung a bit, but less than before. Mostly because Sophie didn't seem to mind she couldn't hug him back. The love they shared did not require physical contact to be showcased; her face was pouring emotion in his heart.

At least that was Lok first impression, because as he fed her strawberry and cream pancakes, Sophie had a grim expression on her face. Despite her resent, however, she did nothing to stop him.

Lok placed the fork down.

"Everything ok, Soph?"

Sophie looked at him with sad, glistening eyes.

"It's… I can feed myself just fine but… I'm embarrassed to do it in front of so many people; in front of you. I am afraid it will look weird, unladylike".

Lok snorted, "Who cares about other people. Let them dare to stare, they don't have half your courage and certainly haven't saved the world thrice".

Sophie gave him a small, shy smile.

"As for me," he scooted closer to her on the couch and swung an arm around her shoulders, "You are my Princess, no matter how you eat, dress or whatever. You are the smartest, bravest and most amazing person I know Sophie".

Her smile grew. Lok could use such simple words and yet brighten her day up so intensely. He didn't pity her; that she knew. He was proud of her. But there was something Sophie couldn't shake off; something that gnawed on her and cracked her confidence.

"Thank you Lok. Do you mind if you keep feeding me for now, it's kind of romantic".

"Ok, who are you and what did you do to Sophie Casterwill?"

They ate their pancakes in a bright mood full of giggles and affection. After their meal, they took a small stroll around Kolonaki, talking about everything and nothing, and then took a taxi to their hotel where they contacted Metz. The information for their mission was now all stored on Lok's Holotome and they were ready to go. As they were waiting for the metro, Sophie nudged him with her shoulder.

"Something doesn't feel right about this".

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, I just have this odd sensation is all".

Lok had a bad feeling too, one he had thoroughly stressed over during his flight to Greece. There were some facts and questions that bugged him repeatedly. But he didn't tell Sophie.

From the outside, the HQ building appeared intact. When they stepped inside Lok and Sophie were left with their jaws slack. The walls were filled with holes and burns and scratches, furniture were flipped over and torn to pieces, an armchair was hanging in the chandelier, papers were scattered all over broken cases and debris. Archeological digging sites were far neater than this sight.

A group of seekers was trying their best, with magic and bare hands,, to clean up the mess. One of them approached Sophie and Lok, an elderly man with a long beard and a well-ironed uniform.

"At last, you have arrived," he raised his arms in the air dramatically, "My name is George Kamanis, representative of Greek Seekers and in charge of protecting the findings of this fine institute we also use as headquarters; although now it has been demoted to smithereens".

"I am Sophie Casterwill and this is Lok Lamb-"

"Of course, I am aware of your identities, the crème de la crème of all seekers, saved the world twice" The man fixed his cufflinks, "Our top elite could not battle the sheer brutality of our enemies. The two of you are our sole hope to uncover this mystery".

As they marched forward, they saw bodies being pulled from the debris, gruesome burns on their heads and fatal wounds on their necks. Sophie wretched.

"Are you certain this was the work of Organization agents?" Sophie inquired. George Kamanis spun around with finesse.

"But of course lady Casterwill. Those signature suits have been etched in my memory since the days they were an actual threat, though I suppose they have climbed their way to the top of our priorities somehow".

"And we are here to find how," Lok said, still taking in his surroundings. Sophie tried her best not to look at the bodies. She was ashamed of her upset stomach but was rendered helpless to how those burns stirred her insides, her fear of fire always fresh.

"Alright," Lok caught up with them after finishing his inspection, "Give us all you've got".

"Certainly," George Kamanis led them through a demolished wall to what used to be a large library. At the west corner there was a clean spot with a desk full of papers and sketches, a Holotome laid open at the centre of this chaos. George took the device in his hand and pointed at the illuminated hologram.

"According to the reports we gathered from the surviving members present on the incident and data from our best investigators, this is a rough estimate of what the attack looked like".

"You weren't there on the attack?"

"No milady, though I wish I was," he replied with bitterness.

As the events played in the Holotome, Sophie was unconsciously leaning towards the device while Lok's expression grimed. These people did look like suits indeed, but something was off about them. They shouldn't have such immense power.

There was no audio on the representation, but with her keen eye, Sophie caught a crucial detail.

"They don't speak," Lok looked at his girlfriend with confusion.

"Pardon milady?"

Sophie rose from her leaning position and looked at both men, "Their mouths never move, they don't utter a single spell, yet they cast ones of incredible strength and velocity".

Lok examined the fake footage and saw that his girlfriend was right.

"You are correct lady Casterwill, but what could this possibly mean? Have they developed such a strong connection with their power that they don't need to utter the spells?"

"Only a few seekers in history never relied on vocalization and they are all dead".

Meanwhile Lok's eyes were tirelessly scanning the events unraveling in the holographic footage as his brain gears creaked and worked, getting him far back to many instances of six months ago until it clicked. He touched his girlfriend's shoulder looking utterly flabbergasted.

"Sophie, those spells, they are not Seeker spells!"

Their eyes locked and Sophie knew immediately what Lok had in mind. Her eyes shot wide.

"But that's impossible!"

"Penny for your thoughts sir Lambert?" Kamanis addressed him as he placed the Holotome back on the desk. Lok ignored him.

"It is! Mr Kamanis, play it from the point where they broke in the library!"

The man obeyed and Sophie peeled her eyes for anything her boyfriend might have noticed to make him arrive to his conclusion. And then Sophie saw it, and she remembered.

"That is…"

"Exactly!"

"I'm sorry, care to share your conclusions with me?"

Lok hurriedly grabbed Sophie's waist before she could speak.

"We need to think this through Mister, I only have a hypothesis. We'll come back to you when we are certain".

"But-"

Before the man could protest, the couple was gone.

"What was that about? Why didn't you let me tell him?"

"Because we could risk endangering Brooklyn!"

Sophie scrunched her eyebrows, "Why would she be tied to this?"

"Because this was her spell! The red ribbons, I saw them on Neverland. If we tell anyone about this, it could backfire".

"How?" Sophie stopped running as they approached their hotel. Lok skidded to a halt and insisted on remaining silent until they were in their room.

Sophie didn't get it. Yes the spell she saw was one they had seen Brooklyn cast, but that doesn't mean any other dark magician couldn't be deemed responsible of using it. Sophie didn't know what were the odds of a dark magician of Master Abu's school going rogue, but there had to be one if the suits suddenly seem so expert in dark magic. How they had blasted the door, tore every stone and obstacle to shreds, did not take any damage and then the ribbons. If she were to think hard enough, Sophie was certain she could match other spells to the ones of Brooklyn and dark magicians in general. But for some reason Lok seems hell bent that this one spell could put Brooklyn in danger.

Once in their room, Lok locked the door and closed the blinds before leaning in almost panicked. Sophie was still confused.

"Ok, explain".

"Isn't it obvious? Brooklyn is already in danger by concealing her identity to attend classes under Eirini's protection. All the magician authorities or whatever they have need is one tiny, even irrelevant, clue that she has gone rogue and they will imprison her or worse".

Sophie bit her lip. Lok was right. She had been so certain Eirini's protection would have been enough to keep Brooklyn off the radar that she forgot the professor's warnings. The woman had told them that even though Brooklyn's 'crimes' were justified because she was enslaved by her uncle, that did not change the fact that she practiced dark magic. Eirini had told them that they had a justice vessel called the Conclave dedicated specifically to ostracizing dark magicians. The Conclave was not stupid; they already knew Brooklyn resided in Greece at the moment. If there was one speck of dark magic in the air anywhere on Greece, the Conclave would consider it enough to punish her. And about the other locations? The Conclave wouldn't care. Sophie didn't know how they punished dark magicians and was not sure she wanted to; neither did she want to endanger Brooklyn in any way.

"I understand," Sophie said, "But what do we do now? What's our next move?"

Lok placed a hand on his chin, deep in thought, "We can't let anyone know, not even Metz. They could be watching. All we can do now is investigating alone".

"We could go to Thessaloniki and speak with Eirini. We need to give her a heads up somehow".

Lok couldn't argue with her, but it was still dangerous. All logic said that Eirini would be under tight surveillance after going against the vote and assisted them in their battle against Airdan, but she was the only protection had; she needed to be aware.

"And maybe," Sophie added, "She could lead us on; advise us on how to face the situation".

"Then we should go as soon as possible".

"On it!"

"Here we are," Maurice said as he unlocked room number 106 on Hotel Pennsylvania. Dante scanned it briefly before entering. It was your run of the mill hotel room, a closet to the right a small bathroom left of the entrance, a kitchen counter with a fridge and a bed for two –Dante stopped in his tracks- with a man tucked in the covers, sound asleep.

It was then that Dante noticed the unusual details, like the chains laying around the chair next to a coffee table, the specks of dry glue at its feet and a myriad of unlabeled medication at said table. A half eaten sandwich wrapped in foil had an ingredient that was going bad judging by the smell. Maurice appeared next to him.

"Ah, sorry about that," he picked up the sandwich and threw it in the trashcan. Dante eyed the man quizzically. Maurice chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I know, I know I am supposed to keep it spotless but sometimes when the dude wakes up, he is thrashing like fish out of the water and well, you gotta do what you gotta do," he jabbed his thump at the meds on the table.

"Who is this?"

Maurice shrugged, "Hell if I know. Danny asked me to keep him there so I did. It's been about a year and a half and no one has come looking for him. The dude must have some bad name if you catch my drift," Maurice flopped on the chair and busied himself by inspecting the chains.

Dante took a closer look at what seemed to be Daniels prisoner. Bald with an overgrown black beard and wrinkly pale face, a scar running the line of his jaw climbing up to his nose bridge –he looked oddly familiar but Dante couldn't quiet put a finger on where he has seen the guy before.

Inside the closet there were three identical athletic outfits along with some gauzes and more meds, the fridge had food for days and there was another chair in the bathroom, right under the shower head, traces of dried blood stained the floor. None of the above clued Dante in why Daniel would point him there or to why he was keeping this guy locked away in the first place. Yes, Dante's instincts screamed at him that this guy was most likely some sort of criminal, but what does he have to do with Daniel and this wild goose chase?

Dante emerged from the bathroom and pierced Maurice with his gaze, expectant. The muscled guy was sprinkling some grey powder on the criminal's face, humming some old jazz song. When Maurice turned to put the powder jar back with the rest of the meds, Dante noticed a grey glow enveloping the sleeping man's body for a few seconds before it vanished. He looked at Maurice again. Had he any idea what this powder was or what he was doing? So far, it seemed to him like Maurice was robotically following a routine, questioning nothing. It's all about 'Danny said this' and 'Danny said that'. At this point, Dante found himself questioning how much Maurice knew about Daniel and what he was really doing with that man, or what he was really doing in general.

When Maurice finally caught his gaze, he raised an eyebrow.

"Everything ok, man?"

"What exactly am I looking for here?"

Epiphany shone on Maurice's face, "Oh right, of course! Guess he didn't tell you much either. Jee, Danny and his mysterious guy antics," just as he was about to add more, the door opened and a maid emerged. She greeted them politely and went for the bathroom straight away.

"Ah, this is Dolores," Maurice fished something out of his pocket, "One moment, man"

Maurice went to the bathroom. Dante took the opportunity to examine the array of bottles on the table. He randomly opened one and sniffed. This smelled like no known medication to him, legal or illegal and it gave his nose a strange itch. The instant he put the bottle down, his head started spinning. Dante groaned, rubbed his temples and dropped back on the chair. It creaked at his weight but didn't budge at all. Just then, Maurice returned.

"Sorry about that, where were we," he took in Dante's state and the opened bottle,"Oh no no no, don't touch that man, unless you wanna kiss your mama goodnight for a week. That son of a bitch is some strong shit, I tell ya!"

He hurriedly screwed the lid on the bottle and pulled open one of the drawers. In his hazy state, Dante squinted his heavy eyelids open and noticed the various contents of the drawer; tubes mashed between packs and a stack of papers Maurice was currently withdrawing.

"There," he passed the papers over to him, "That's what you are looking for"

Dizziness slightly lifted, Dante took the stack in his hands. It was thick enough for him to hold it with one hand without dropping anything, all black and white with tiny letters and photos. The instant his fingers came in contact with the paper, some of the numbers wobbled in the paper; like the ink was coming to life, and with keen eyes Dante saw the dates change. The second thing he noticed as he flipped the first paper was a photo of the guy who was lying on the bed right behind him. Shaking the remnants of the haziness off, he began reading.

The more he read, the more clueless he became about what on earth he was supposed to do there. Apparently, the sleeping criminal was one of the most wanted kidnappers in the US, infamous for kidnapping children and women of rich families and demanding ransom from the men who were usually some big CEOs.

"No shit!" Maurice gasped from behind. He was leaning right next to Dante's ear, eyes skimming the texts with him. His expression was one of utter shock and disbelief and Dante put two and two together.

"You had no idea who this was, did you?"

Maurice chuckled awkwardly, his almond eyes shrinking, "Well, no…. All I knew was that Danny wanted me to…take care of him until 'his guy'", he mimicked with his fingers.

"And you are no FBI agent," Dante stated with certainty. Maurice visibly winced.

"Is it that obvious?"

He took the powder case and played it between his fingers, "Ok yeah, I am not an agent, just a security guy. But Danny trusted me with this one and I didn't want to let him down," he seemed genuinely guilty for lying to Dante about his occupation and Dante decided to cut him some slack.

"How did you meet Daniel?"

Maurice brightened up immediately, "Danny is my hero, man. I was working for a club in Chinatown when some shady guys ganged up on me, speaking Chinese gibberish and pointing freaking M nines at me. I was outnumbered and lacked the steel, but Danny butted in with some crazy maneuvers and-" he paused, mouth agape like a fish, "I don't know exactly how hut he did some crazy shit back there, saved my ass and my paycheck so when he said 'don't ask' I sipped the slit".

He heaved a sigh, "He was pretty new to then, asked me to show him around. Been attached to the hip ever since until he just up and vanished. Sometimes he asked me for some weird ass favors like this one. Never questioned him. Call me a lunie but I could see it in his eyes, this boy had been through some hell and I just knew he was chasing something. I might be a dumb skull but I have some morals and when a friend needs assistance, I provide. And Danny was a friend more than anyone has ever been," Maurice tried to muffle a hiccup, his eyes shimmering with fresh tears.

Dante knew there was more. Maurice was evidently holding back some of the most personal details but Dante's guessing could fill in the blanks; rough past, parents weren't supportive, maybe divorced, hardships at school, fights. Daniel might have been the first person who ever believed in Maurice and cared for him and Dante felt for the guy. He wouldn't push him to say anything more. After all he had gotten what he was there for.

"Thank you for being honest with me," Dante stood up and faced him, "And yes, Daniel has been through a lot. And what he was chasing… it was his little sister".

Dante wasn't going to confide to Maurice about magicians and seekers, but he at least had the right to know the basics after all he has done for Daniel. Maurice perked up at the mention of Brooklyn.

"Didn't know he had one," Maurice sniffed, "What happened to her?"

"She was kidnapped when they were little. Daniel swore he would find her and bring her home safe. And he did".

Here comes the hard part.

"Really?" Light shone through his features and Dante felt like someone was squeezing his insides.

"Yes, she is safe and sound now, but…" Dante's fist clenched around the papers, "He confronted her kidnapper and…he was killed".

A tear trickled down Maurice's sharp cheek. This time, he didn't bother holding back. He allowed himself to break down, slumping back on the chair and letting the tears flow. Dante placed a hand on his shoulder and sat through it all. He hated being the bearer of bad news. It's not like he hadn't experienced similar situations before where he had to be the announcer of the grim news. Something about admitting to someone that Daniel is gone just made it even more real. And with him Den followed.

Dante took a moment to reflect on what those two deaths meant to him.

Den; a prodigy, a student, a fellow seeker and a friend who had bloomed from a scared little boy to a man with confidence in himself right before his eyes and was there through his darkest times, all corny jokes and stubborn whining. So many colors were drained from his team at his loss, and he just knew than no adventure would be the same without Den's little signatures.

Daniel; a foe turned into ally, a romance rival turned into a friend, a man carrying scars in his soul all alone, a man that reminded him of himself before he met the two teenagers that would turn his life upside down. Daniel had shown Dante how loneliness and disclosure can shroud a man's life with misery and Dante truly wished to lend a helping hand. He felt for him and even learned some valuable lessons from him, he appreciated him. But he was gone, taking that stubborn, stoic façade with him.

As he was contemplating, Maurice's cries had been reduced to sniffles and hiccups as he was coming together. He wiped the last remnants of tears and looked Dante dead in the eye.

"Danny's sister…what's her name?"

"Brooklyn," Dante squeezed his shoulder.

"Brooklyn, huh?" Maurice played the name in his tongue, "A beautiful name. Is she safe now?"

Dante hesitated before answering a curt, "Yes". Truth be told, he wasn't sure how safe she was, but Dante is definitely going to check on her after this whole wild goose chase is over. He's got a lot to share with her.

"Good, that's good," Maurice sniffled.

Dante stuffed the papers in his trench coat and cleared his throat, "I should go now. There is one more place I need to be".

Maurice stood up and dusted off his pants, "Yes, of course, I get it. Thanks for… you know, for telling me".

"Of course"

Maurice stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground, "I'm just gonna, do some maintenance here, run the routine and all after Dolores is done with the bathroom".

Dante nodded, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Maurice".

Maurice gave him a toothy grin, "You too man. Thanks for helping Danny out".

Dante made to leave but he was stopped midway.

"Hey, uh… if you don't mind me asking… was there a funeral?"

Dante inhaled sharply, "Daniel wished to be incarcerated," he remembered when Brooklyn had found a note in her pocket with her brother's final wishes. The damaged female had poured her heart out, holding the letter close to her chest as Lok and Harrison stood by her side, "We are spreading his ashes on a river of Rotterdam, close to his house. I'll tell you in advance".

Maurice nodded, "Thanks Dante, it means a lot, really".

Dante patter his shoulder, "Goodbye for now, Maurice".

And with that, he was out of the hotel and on his way to the airport, ready to take the next flight to Italy.

The more he walks, the more the trembling of his muscles subsides; and the more reality sinks in.

He is dead. Den Fears is dead, decapitated.

Next to him is Daniel, the second loss to the team. He strolls around like he is familiar with the streets, his steps producing sloshing sounds with the wet stone under. Den on the other hand feels entirely lost in the Victorian Gothic scenery of a town that stretches in front of him. The road they walk is full of pubs and barbers and clothing tailors. They pass by a tall building that looks like an ancient Greek temple, only it has grayish colors and the huge carved letters on top read "TIME BANK". Den's gaze lingered at the row of bruised and battered dead souls, moaning gibberish and reeking of mold. Puss was leaking from some of their wounds. Den gagged and shut his eyes for a moment. That's when his ears picked up the sound of rushing water.

As they turned to their right, the road was blocked by a gate with a large silver plate, "Lost Souls". A good look behind the thick bars had Den regretting his decision to take a peek in the first place, as he was greeted by transparent hand emerging from a greenish river and thrown straight at his eyeball, leaving a slimy substance that burned badly. He winced and blinked rapidly, anything to get it off of him.

Daniel calmly leaned in the bars and produced a handkerchief out of his jean pockets.

"Oh yeah, don't get too close to those unless you want to be an empty shell of your former self".

"Gee, thanks for the warning," Den whined as he wiped his eye free of whatever that was.

Still blinking the shock and slime away, he took another good look at Daniel. He had grown a messy, short beard, his hair longer than he remembered and his usual sporty style degraded to the look of a drug dealer. He really looked like shit, but Den didn't comment. After all, he was doused in dirt and smelled maybe worse than those people at the time bank.

"What are we doing here?"

Daniel had refused to answer his questions about anything that he saw or heard in the total of thirty minutes of their walk from the graveyard to where they were. Den hoped he would at least answer this one.

Daniel blew a stray hair out of his face, "Waiting," he uttered.

"For what?"

"This," Daniel jabbed his thumb at a carriage that was heading their way, the driver concealed in a black cloak, a sparrow resting on his shoulder. Without hesitation, Daniel opened the carriage door and jumped right in. Den stayed frozen on the spot. Where the hell where they going? What was he supposed to do now that he is dead? Is there even anything he can do here?

Curiosity got the better of him and he tried to steal a glance at the driver's face. He all but caught a glimpse of a grotesque smile with scaly skin and pointy, dirty teeth. Shivers run down his spine. Nope, he had seen enough deformities for one day. The driver looked at him dead in the eye, even the sparrow seemed to be glaring at him. Den immediately lowered his head and joined Daniel in an annoyingly silent and bumpy ride to wherever they were headed.

After about fifteen minutes, which to Den seemed more like eons in that uncomfortable seat and lack of space, they entered a neighborhood with identical large stone buildings, the only difference between them being a large golden number etched in their barred entrance door. As they progressed the road became less bumpy and the wheels were making a splotchy sound, indicating mud underneath.

Den looked at Daniel expectantly, hope unshaken that he will get a damn explanation. Daniel caught his gaze and licked his lips, inhaling sharply through his nose.

"This is the Estate of the Dead, where we are staying," he said, looking through the window. When Den showed no indication he was satisfied, Daniel sighed.

"There are different estates according to your sins, wealth, ethics and other factors. We are assigned to the 98th estate, after I pulled some strings of course," Den frowned at that; how the hell would Daniel have connections here of all places?

"Nothing you need to concern yourself about," he waved his hand dismissively. The carriage came to a screeching halt and Den was thrust forward, his face slammed against the hard wood and he wondered if this was some kind of karma for refusing to wear a seatbelt whenever he was in a car when he was alive.

When he was alive…

Being dead was something he was still trying to digest. Getting his bearings together and scrambling off the carriage, he ignored the mud splashing all around with his landing and traced the scar tissue on his neck, his reflection on the glass window following his movements.

Den had a myriad of questions. How were the others? How was his brother? Is Airdan dead? Did they make it? How long has it been? But Daniel won't answer any of the questions at the moment and all he is left with are the constant shivers sunning along his spine and ending at the cut on his neck, looping around it like an electrical current.

The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his trance and he saw that Daniel was several steps ahead of him. Den sprinted to catch up with him, only now noticing the finer details of the building ahead of them; red crosses at the dusty windows, a sole willow tree at the yard and a field of growing pumpkins.

They reached the entrance and Den had his first look of the interior; murky stone walls and floor, bluntly colored carpets and curtains and wooden or leather furniture shaping a large lobby like area with a fireplace at the size of a garage door. Statues were embedded on the walls depicting all kinds of monstrous creatures; Den swore he recognized some of them.

He didn't realize he was left alone in his stupor until a new voice pulled him out of it. The voice belonged to a gangly old lady all in black, her bony, wrinkly hand extended and a silver key in her palm.

"Room 908, enjoy your staying," she said monotonously and disappeared behind a large desk with a glass apparatus. Den blinked, startled. Was he supposed to say something? Had he pissed her off?

"Come on, you must have a bucketful to ask me and we don't have much time," Daniel was already a few steps ahead and so Den jogged to catch up. He could have sworn Daniel had mumbled something under his breath but if he did, den didn't pick it up. He was too confused and pissed because oh, Daniel remembered to answer his questions only after he had been drilling him on the road for a handful of minutes straight. Just when this guy had started to grow on him when they were with the living, he goes and acts all grumpy and once he is dead. A question mark arose in his brain and Den nearly choked in air.

How long had they been dead? How long has Daniel been waiting for him to wake up?

Before he could even put his thoughts in order, they were there; room 908. The wooden door was like any other they passed by and Den would guess the interior was too; two single beds all white with a respective nightstand each, a small bathroom, a refrigerator and a closet squeezed between the beds, a large window above it. Basically it looked like a cheap hotel room and Den wondered what he had done in his time with the living to deserve such cheap service. Maybe the penthouses were reserved for the rich and geniouses, maybe he could meet Kennedy!

The door behind them slammed shut and Daniel plopped in one of the beds Den assumed he had claimed already.

"Shoot".

Boy, finally!


End file.
